CHAPTER 2
“Dreams can be postponed, but never forgotten…”
DIEGO BITTENCOURT
I felt strangely relieved to see Maria Gabriela acting just like always.
We’d had… an eventful night over the weekend, and I half-expected it to complicate things at the office. Apparently, I was wrong. She mattered to me. Professionally, of course.
Except for Saturday. That had been purely physical.
Mistakes happen.
Maria Gabriela was twenty-five, and for almost five years she’d been my chief secretary. Honestly, I could say without her, half of what happened at Amacel Corporation wouldn’t even be possible. And yes, that had everything to do with me—because I hired her, I shaped her.
When she first started, she was just another recent graduate with big dreams and a hunger to learn. I probably could’ve pushed her harder if I hadn’t been so consumed with my own ambitions.
But now… now she was flawless. Every detail of my schedule, every movement in the company went through her before it ever reached me.
I trained her well.
Maria Gabriela knew exactly how I liked things done. And even though she tried to hide it, I knew she was proud of it—proud of her growth, of what she had become.
An exceptional professional, meticulous, with that personal touch that made her indispensable.
And if we’re being honest, I’d never let her go. Not today, not tomorrow.
Of course, that evolution had everything to do with the environment I created.
My creation. My empire. The giant of technology in Brazil—maybe even Latin America.
A company my twin brother, Alexandre, and I built from scratch, with sweat, strategy, and—naturally—a lot of intelligence.
We specialized in telecommunications and mobile networks, building infrastructure for 5G services and high-speed internet.
Our clients ranged from massive corporations to governments, and our influence stretched across the entire country.
People liked to say getting here was pure luck. But no—it was years of insane dedication, sleepless nights, and choices most wouldn’t dare to make.
And me? I was the cold heart of the operation. The brain that kept it running.
Alexandre was the charismatic one, the public face. I preferred the shadows. Let people believe what they wanted while I kept the machine moving.
Yes, I’m a narcissist. Yes, I’m demanding.
But nobody could deny the results. And Maria Gabriela was part of those results. Not just efficient—efficient my way, because I made her that way.
Funny thing was, over the years she’d developed this sharp edge, the ability to push back, to provoke me—like we were locked in some endless dance of power.
And I liked it.
Very few dared to challenge me. She did. And she seemed to enjoy it. Which was ironic, considering that underneath it all, she was fiercely loyal.
Maybe that loyalty was what fascinated me most.
But now, after Saturday… I needed to keep things under control. Because no matter how much I told myself it was just a slip—a moment of weakness—I couldn’t allow it to interfere with our professional rhythm.
I don’t mix business with anything else. Never have. And I wasn’t about to start now. Maria Gabriela was essential, and any complication between us could put at risk everything we’d built.
Everything I had shaped.
That was my narcissism talking again. I should rein it in… or not.
I left my office, determined to keep control—or at least look like I had it. With a stack of papers in hand, I walked to Maria Gabriela’s desk. She was focused, eyes glued to the monitor, and for a second I almost felt guilty interrupting her.
Almost.
With a wicked smile I knew she hated, I dropped the pile of documents on her desk with a soft thud that echoed across the room. She lifted her eyes slowly, not even bothering to hide her irritation.
“More work,” I said, folding my arms and tilting my head, watching her closely.
I knew exactly what was coming.
“Really?! Never would’ve guessed. I thought you were bringing me flowers,” she shot back without blinking, picking up one sheet like it might kill her. “Or maybe even coffee, who knows?”
This was our dance. She knew I loved provoking her, and she gave it right back. Maria Gabriela wasn’t like the others; she never let herself be intimidated. And that entertained me more than I liked to admit.
“Flowers? Someone’s dreaming a little too high,” I teased, leaning casually against her desk. “Besides, you already know—I’m not the type for romantic gestures.”
She sighed dramatically, pushing the stack aside like it was a joke, though her eyes sparkled with that sharp humor I appreciated so much.
“Oh, I know. You’re the type who buries people in work and thinks you’re doing them a favor.”
“Hey, I’m a busy man. I need to delegate.” I shrugged, trying not to grin. We both knew this was more about the game than the papers. “And let’s be honest—nobody does it the way I like… except you.”
She shot me a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. I loved that expression on her.
“Good to know you recognize my worth, Mr. Bittencourt,” she replied, her tone light, almost mocking.
“I always have. But it’s better to keep you busy. Otherwise, you start thinking too much.”
She laughed, shaking her head, and for a moment I realized how oddly comforting these little exchanges were.
The banter kept the job from feeling suffocating, at least for me. Because despite my narcissism and my tendency to keep everyone at arm’s length, Maria Gabriela had this way of pulling me into an uncomfortable comfort zone—if that makes any sense.
“Don’t worry,” she said, flipping through the papers again. “I’ll take care of it, as always. But one day, Diego, I’m going to charge you a fortune for all these extra services.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “Until then, keep surprising me. That’s why you’re here.”
“That’s why, huh?” She looked up, eyes gleaming with amusement. “I thought it was because of my irresistible charm.”
“Maybe,” I said with a laugh. “But don’t let it go to your head.”
She laughed too, and I knew that, for all her complaints, she needed these moments as much as I did. We kept going, caught in a silent game whose rules shifted every day, but one we never stopped playing.
I studied her for another moment, noting how focused she was on the papers I’d just handed her.
“You know,” I began, leaning in slightly, closing the space between us, “you’ve got that serious face on, but I’d bet anything you’re already plotting how to get back at me.”
Her eyes snapped up, that familiar defiant spark flashing.
“Oh, Diego, if I wasted my time planning revenge for every one of your little provocations, I’d never finish my work,” she said with sarcastic flair. “And honestly, I’ve got more important things to do. Like fixing your schedule, which, by the way, is a disaster.”
“I know you love the chaos,” I countered, folding my arms and smiling down at her. “It’s where you shine.”
She gave a soft laugh, that one that always made me think I could keep this up for hours. And most days, I could.
“I shine so much you can’t stop piling more work on me,” she said, glancing back at the papers. “So, any particular reason for all this early-morning enthusiasm, Mr. Bittencourt?”
I straightened, pretending to think, while watching her absently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, completely at ease.
“Maybe I just like to see how far that sharp wit of yours can go,” I said, my tone serious but laced with playfulness.
She couldn’t resist; her eyes met mine, amusement clear.
“And maybe I like showing you I can go further than you think.”
Before I could push back, her phone rang. Without missing a beat, she answered, slipping effortlessly into the polished professional I’d shaped over the years.
As she spoke, I lingered there, studying her with a fresh curiosity. Our exchanges were always a push and pull, but deep down, I knew she understood me better than most.
And that was dangerous.
Because the closer she came to seeing who I really was, the more I felt that relentless need to keep her near—even if it was only to keep playing the game.
She hung up, then lifted her hand in a clear “you’re dismissed” gesture.
“Work, Diego. The work you so kindly dumped on me. Don’t you have a meeting right about now?” she asked, eyebrow raised in mock challenge.
I chuckled, shaking my head.
“All right, all right. I’m going. But this isn’t over.”
She smiled—that smile that always twisted something in my chest.
“I’m counting on it.”
And with that, I walked away. But not without stealing one last glance at her. Because even when I left, even when the game seemed paused, there was always that expectation that it would start again.
And honestly, I didn’t know what I wanted more: the next move… or to find out where this game would finally take us.